


Let Nothing You Dismay

by patchworkofstars



Category: Father Brown (2013)
Genre: Christmas, Established Relationship, Found Family, It’s Valentine idk what else you’d expect, I’ll sail this ship alone if I have to, M/M, One (1) use of Edgar, Smoking, These two deserved a Christmas fic, i just think they're neat, so i wrote one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:29:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28367685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patchworkofstars/pseuds/patchworkofstars
Summary: “Would you rather spend Christmas Day in London with your father, or in Kembleford with me, Father Brown, and a slice of Mrs McCarthy’s award-winning Christmas cake?”Valentine is determined to give Sullivan a Christmas he’ll enjoy, and he’s not about to let sartorial disagreements, obnoxious relatives, or even Hercule Flambeau get in the way!
Relationships: Inspector Sullivan/Inspector Valentine (Father Brown)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

From a narrow London street, a block of flats rose against the grey gloom of a winter sky. Its brickwork was darkened by the accumulated grime of years, but the inhabitants had done their best to make it cheerful for the season, decorating the small windows with a patchwork of tinsel and streamers, paper snowflakes and foil-covered stars.

From among them, Sullivan looked down with distaste as passers-by ground the dusting of snow into cold brown slush. Adults hurried by laden with last-minute shopping, the collars of their thick woollen coats turned up against the freezing fog in the air. Children shrieked and squealed as they dodged thrown handfuls of ice, their gloves already soaked through.

“What are you glaring at?” Valentine asked mildly, leaning back against the sofa and taking a drag of his cigarette.

Sullivan abandoned the window and turned to face him. “A few flakes of snow and everyone in this country goes crazy”, he complained. “Including you, apparently.” He raised a critical eyebrow at the red Christmas jumper Valentine wore, hand-knitted, with a snowman on the front.

“Yeah well, some of us like to relax when we’re not at work.” Valentine stretched out his free hand and grinned. “You should come over here and try it.”

Sullivan sighed, carefully avoiding the reaching arm as he moved to sit down beside him. He did not, however, relax.

Valentine reached over and gave his hand a squeeze. “Come on, what’s bothering you? We’ve both got time off work together for once, isn’t that worth celebrating?”

“It might be if we could actually spend it together”, Sullivan complained, turning his hand automatically to interlace their fingers.

“I take it you’re not looking forward to the big day with your parents tomorrow?”

Sullivan grimaced. “Ah yes, the delightful family Christmas. Pointless small talk with people I don’t like. Trapped at the dinner table hearing about my cousins’ achievements and waiting for the comparisons to start. ‘So, Edgar, have you found a nice girl yet?’ ‘By your age, I was married with three children!’, ‘Why don’t you come and visit us more often? It’s not like you have anyone else to spend your time with.’” He leaned back with a groan of frustration, his free hand clenching into a fist at his side.

Valentine leaned back and blew a cloud of smoke up towards the ceiling. “I wish I could take you with me to my sister’s place”, he said. “The kids can get a bit loud, but at least everyone's too distracted to interrogate me. I’d still prefer a quiet Christmas with you though.” He released Sullivan’s hand to wrap a sympathetic arm around his shoulders.

Sullivan sighed. “Likewise, but I don’t suppose there’s any chance of that. And I’m not sure I want to be _hugg_ _ed_ by that jumper.” Despite his words, he made no move to escape. Instead, he rested his head against Valentine’s, some of his tension ebbing away.

Valentine grinned, shifting closer. “Don’t be such a snob. It’s soft.”

“You’re the one who’s soft.”

“I’ll have you know I’m a hard-boiled veteran detective.”

"Wearing a snowman jumper your mother knitted.”

“All right, Scrooge, let me have my festive spirit.” Valentine unwrapped his arm and reached across to knock the ash from his cigarette into the tray. “I bet you’d enjoy it more if you could get away from your parents and spent it out in the countryside.”

“I take it you mean Kembleford.” Sullivan rolled his eyes. “I’m sure Christmas there is ridiculously quaint. I’m surprised you could stand it.”

Valentine huffed a laugh. “Don’t be such a cynical bastard. I’ll have you know I used to take detours through the churchyard to hear the choir practising for Christmas Mass. And the nativity procession on the day was always worth watching, especially when the casting got out of hand. I used to wait until they’d all gone inside, then nip in and sit near the back of the church to soak up the atmosphere.”

“Are you seriously telling me _you_ went to Mass?”

“Don’t pull that face, everyone went at Christmas. Besides, I always made a swift exit as soon as it was over, before Father Brown could drop any hints about me catching religion.” He smiled at the memory, eyes distant with nostalgia. “Kembleford Christmases were special though, especially when it snowed. The whole place looked like something from a Christmas card. It was almost...” He broke off.

“...Magical?” Sullivan raised an eyebrow.

Valentine winced “Yeah. Look, I’m not saying it was actually magic, obviously. It’s just that Christmas there is like another world compared with London.”

Sullivan's mouth twitched into a half-smile. “Knowing Kembleford, I expect there was always at least one bloody corpse to turn the snow red.”

Valentine took a thoughtful drag of his cigarette. “Not always”, he mused, “We had a mistletoe poisoning one year.”

“Very festive.”

“Yeah. Luckily, the would-be murderer overestimated how toxic the stuff is. The victim made a full recovery.”

“I should’ve guessed”, Sullivan remarked dryly. “I suppose in Kembleford, even murderers can’t escape a Christmas miracle.” He glanced across to the window, and out at the darkening grey sky. “I will admit it sounds more appealing than dinner with my father.”

A smile crept onto Valentine’s face. “Well, if you put it that way...” He stubbed out the remains of his cigarette and stood up, a gleam in his eyes. “Pack a case and let’s get an early night. I’m taking you to Kembleford for Christmas.” With a wink, he disappeared into the bedroom.

“Are you out of your mind? Where will we stay?” Sullivan called after him, over the back of the sofa. “In case you’d forgotten, there’s a new inspector with a family living in the police cottage, and the hotels won’t be taking any more bookings!”

Valentine popped his head back around the door frame and grinned. “I’ll give Father Brown a call. If there’s no room at the inn, we can always stay at the presbytery!”

“This is ridiculous." Sullivan followed him into the bedroom, his forehead creasing as he watched Valentine fold a shirt in a rather slapdash way. "It's Christmas Eve. What about your family? They'll be expecting you there tomorrow!”

Valentine shrugged. “They can manage without me for once. More food for the kids, and it might even give my sister a chance to win at Ludo." He looked up from the suitcase, his eyes suddenly serious. “Besides, you're my family too, now, even if the rest of them don't know it.”

Sullivan’s expression softened despite himself, but the hint of a frown lingered. “What am I going to tell my father? He won’t like me not being at home for Christmas.”

“It’ll serve him right.” Valentine handed him a suitcase and patted his arm. "Tell him you’ve been called away on top-secret Special Branch business or something. Anyway, home is where you make it. Would you rather spend Christmas Day in London with your father, or in Kembleford with me, Father Brown, and a slice of Mrs McCarthy’s award-winning Christmas cake?”

Sullivan raised his eyebrows. “You do make a compelling case.” A smile quirked at one corner of his mouth.

Valentine winked. “I am a DCI, you know."

“If I go, will you at least wear a suit?” Sullivan looked him up and down, eyes narrowed.

Valentine sighed. “How about I wear one for travelling, and then change into my jumper for the party?"

Sullivan gave a brief nod of acquiescence. “As long as you don’t expect me to do the same.” He put his suitcase down on the bed. “And Walter?”

Valentine looked up. “Yeah?”

“Thank you. If I’m with you, there’s a chance I might actually enjoy this.”


	2. Chapter 2

Light spilled through the presbytery windows as a welcoming golden glow, as though beckoning them inside to join the festivities. The two men shared a look, then Valentine stepped forward and rapped the heavy brass knocker. A moment later, the door opened to reveal Father Brown, wearing a green party crown at a rakish angle and a smile that grew to beaming when he saw who was there.

“Chief Inspector Valentine, I’m so glad you could come!” He peered past, to where Sullivan hung awkwardly back. “And Chief Inspector Sullivan? Delightful to see you both!”

There was a hint of emphasis on the _both_ , and a knowing look in his eyes as he ushered them across the threshold. Valentine looked everywhere but at the priest as he divested himself of his coat and hat, and Sullivan busied himself smoothing imaginary creases from his suit. It was unsettling how easily the priest could read between the lines people gave him, extracting hints and scraps and assembling them to find the truth.

“You came here together, then?” the Father asked, more quietly, leaning closer to Valentine against the wall of the narrow hallway.

Valentine swallowed, acutely aware of the second question lying behind the first. “Yes. Together.” Although he knew there was no danger in the simple, innocuous statement, he still couldn’t quite meet the priest’s eyes.

Sullivan cleared his throat. “Sharing a car saves on petrol and means we can each take a turn at driving.”

“Of course, very efficient." The Father smiled with deceptive blandness, then clapped his hands together. "Now then, let's go on through, and you can say hello to the others!”

He led the way through to the presbytery kitchen, where an aproned Mrs McCarthy was bustling about preparing an elaborate Christmas dinner. Bunty sipped at a glass of sherry, enthusiastically draping streamers over every available surface. From a wireless in the corner, the quiet melody of a carol filled the air.

“The chief inspectors are here!” Father Brown announced, and both heads immediately turned their way, faces breaking into welcoming smiles.

“Lovely to see you both!” Mrs McCarthy greeted them. “Now, don’t you two gentlemen worry, there’ll be plenty of food to go around. That is, assuming we get it all done in time. Come along, Father, those carrots won’t peel themselves!”

The Father sat down with a cheerful smile, catching the tune from the wireless and humming along as he set to slow and careful work on the vegetables.

Mrs McCarthy shook her head with fond exasperation. “You’ll have to go more quickly than that, or we’ll have nothing but turkey to offer our visitors.”

“Perhaps the chief inspectors could help out too”, suggested Bunty. “That would speed things up.”

“Don’t be silly, dear”, Mrs M admonished. “They’re guests who’ve driven all the way from London to be here. I’m sure they’ll be wanting to rest, not start chopping vegetables.”

Valentine cleared his throat, stepping over to the table. “We’ll be happy to help", he assured her. "I can join Father Brown peeling vegetables, and Sullivan here is a great cook. Not up to your excellent standard, of course, Mrs McCarthy, but he does us a roast every Sunday, so I’m sure he’ll be a capable assistant.”

He patted Sullivan's shoulder, and Father Brown raised his eyebrows at them, an amused smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Sullivan shot Valentine a glare, then turned to Mrs McCarthy. “As I’m sure you’re aware, it’s easier to cook a proper meal for more than one person”, he said smoothly. “Just let me know what I can do to help.”

“Excellent!” said Bunty. “In that case, here are your official uniforms as part of the team!” Before the chief inspectors realised what was happening, she had dropped a party crown onto each of their heads; yellow for Valentine and blue for Sullivan.

Sullivan sighed heavily and straightened his crown, but to Valentine’s surprise he didn’t remove it. As he and Mrs McCarthy began discussing cooking times and the best way to make gravy, Valentine slid into the seat beside Father Brown, avoiding the priest’s eyes. He selected a carrot and began hacking clumsily at it, wondering if was too soon to slip off for a cigarette break.

“Eating meals together sounds very sensible to me”, the Father commented in a reassuring tone. “It’s always nice to have company at mealtimes.”

“Yes”, Bunty agreed. “Much more fun than being stuck at a table on your own, with no one to talk to.”

Mrs McCarthy glanced over. “Oh? I suppose that’s why you insist on having so many meals at the presbytery?”

Bunty shrugged. “That and the food’s better here. You know no one can match your cooking, Mrs M, even at Montague.”

“Quite right", Father Brown agreed. "The best of food tastes even better when eaten with frien-"

He stopped abruptly and raised his eyes heavenward. Valentine followed his gaze, half expecting some spontaneous Latin prayer until he heard the soft tread of footsteps descending the stairs.

A moment later, the kitchen door swung open, and a bearded man in a suit sharp enough to rival Sullivan’s stepped into the room. “ _Et voilà!”_ , he cried. _“_ _Joyeux Noël, mes amis_ _!”_

All heads turned to stare, and Bunty gave a squeal of delight, leaping to hug the new arrival. Valentine narrowed his eyes and exchanged a look with Sullivan. The man's facial hair might have altered, and he was undoubtedly in a brighter mood than they’d seen before, but neither of them would ever forget that face.

“Hercule, you made it!” Father Brown cried, standing up with a dazzling smile and abandoning the carrots.

Mrs McCarthy glanced across at the newcomer and sighed. “You’ve decided to join us, I see. I suppose it was too much to expect you to come in through the front door like a normal person.”

Sullivan cleared his throat pointedly. “Father, please tell me you didn’t invite Flambeau to this party”, he said, his voice carefully level.

The man’s gaze darted across, taking in first Sullivan and then Valentine. “Father, a word”, he said, dragging the priest out into the hallway.

His voice continued, low and muffled, just barely audible beyond the closed door. “Really, Father, you could’ve warned me you were inviting two members of Scotland Yard to this party.”

“I would have done, but you’re not easy to get hold of at short notice, and they only told me last night they'd be coming. It's lovely of them to visit, and I'm delighted to see them, but strictly speaking, I didn't so much invite them as they invited themselves."

The man snorted. “Fair enough. The police do make a habit of that.”

The door swung open once more, and the pair re-entered the kitchen, wearing an uncannily similar pair of disarming smiles.

Sullivan raised an eyebrow. “So, are you going to tell us who you are, if you’re not Flambeau?” he asked dryly.

Bunty laughed, only slightly forced. “Don’t be silly, of course he’s not Flambeau! This is Father Brown’s friend, Hercule...”

“...Duroc”, the man finished smoothly, stepping forward and holding out a hand both chief inspectors declined to shake. He shrugged. “I can assure you, I am definitely not Monsieur Flambeau, although I’m flattered you think there’s a resemblance. I’ve heard he’s a criminal genius and the greatest thief ever to have lived. Not to mention devilishly handsome.”

“Although not, perhaps, blessed with modesty”, Father Brown added, turning away to hide a smile.

Sullivan leaned down level with Valentine’s ear. “Are we seriously going to allow this charade?” he hissed.

Valentine sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Perhaps a Christmas truce is in order? If we arrested everyone in this room who’s ever committed a crime, Mrs McCarthy would have a very lonely dinner.”

Sullivan shot him a glare and then turned away, his face rather pink. A wicked grin spread over the so-called-Duroc’s face.

“Father, I take it back”, he exclaimed. “I hadn’t realised Scotland Yard detectives could be so entertaining! Tell me, Inspectors, what crimes have you two been committing?”

“What on earth is that supposed to mean?” Mrs McCarthy began, but Bunty mercifully interrupted.

“You know”, she mused, “I wouldn’t be so quick to count Mrs M out. She got through an awful lot of sugar back when it was still on ration.”

“Penelope!” Mrs McCarthy glared at her, scandalised.

Valentine winced and cleared his throat. “Yes, well, since sugar rationing is over and we’ve agreed not to make any arrests, I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” He put down the remains of the carrot he’d been decimating and stood up, wiping his hands on his trousers. “I left our cases in the car. I should go and fetch them.”

“I’ll help”, Sullivan agreed, hurrying to follow him. He kept his back straight and his head held high, pointedly ignored the definitely-not-Flambeau’s grin.

Tension was written in every line of his body as they collected their cases and carried them up to the spare room. As soon as they were safely within, he pulled Valentine to one side.

“What precisely did you tell Father Brown when you telephoned him?” he demanded in a low voice.

Valentine shrugged him off and perched on the edge of the bed. “I only asked if we could come and visit and stay the night at the presbytery. He said he’d love to see us, and we’d be welcome to sleep in the spare room if we didn’t mind there only being one bed.” He patted the cover. “I know it’s nothing fancy, but at least it’s a double. It was that or sleep in the living room, but he warned me that gets chilly at night even in summer, so it’ll be freezing in this weather. I said the spare room would be fine, we’d manage the bed situation somehow.”

“Please tell me you didn’t say we share a bed at home.”

“Of course not!” Valentine scowled at him. “What do you take me for? I wouldn’t tell a priest our business, especially not over the phone, where any nosy operator could listen in.”

Sullivan closed his eyes and exhaled with relief, letting his shoulders relax a little. “You’re right”, he said. “I’m sorry, I should have had more faith in you. I just don’t believe even Mrs McCarthy would believe it if we claimed we share a bed to save on laundry.”

Valentine snorted and shook his head. “To be honest, I think the Father’s guessed anyway.”

Sullivan’s eyes flew open. “He’s _what?!”_ he hissed.

“Don’t worry, he won’t tell anyone. I trust him.” Valentine scrubbed a hand across his face. “I’m not so sure about Hercule bloody _Duroc_ , though. I still can’t believe the Father invited him. Last time I met him, we were shooting at each other.”

“Yes, you’re not alone there.” Sullivan leaned against the bed frame beside him. “He has to be clutching at straws, though. There’s no way he can know anything about us for sure.”

“True, but we don’t want to give him any more ideas. How do you think we should play this?”

“When we go back down, we’ll just have to convince everyone we’re heterosexual.”

“How?!” Valentine stared up at him blankly.

“You don’t seriously expect me to know?”

Valentine sighed. “I suppose it’s up to me. What am I meant to do, flirt with Mrs McCarthy?” He grimaced. “Don’t answer that.”

"I promise not to get jealous if you do." Sullivan gave him a wry smile. "I hardly think that will be necessary though. Who is Flambeau going to tell, the Chief Constable? He’s wanted in five countries, and not for his sparkling repartee.”

“Right.” Valentine nodded and stood up. “Still, I suppose we should head back down in case they get suspicious about what we’re doing up here."

He started back down the stairs, only to pause and turn around when he realised Sullivan wasn't following. "What?"

Sullivan stood in the doorway, eyes gleaming as he looked Valentine up and down. “You know”, he said slowly, “They won’t actually be able to tell whether we’ve been up to anything or not. I’m sure _Duroc_ will have them all distracted, so another few minutes won’t make much difference.”

Valentine grinned. “Well, in that case...” He ran back up the steps and wound an arm around Sullivan’s waist, ducking them both around the corner into their temporary bedroom once more.

*****

The party continued on until the washing up was done and cleared away, and the carols on the wireless were repeating for at least the third time. Mrs McCarthy peered out through the window at the now fully dark sky and announced it was time for her to leave. She insisted on walking Bunty home to Montague, and Bunty insisted that if she did that, she should stay the night there in one of the guest bedrooms. Mrs M put up the most token of resistances, very obviously thrilled at the thought. They were still debating the details as they disappeared down the road and out of sight.

It would have been an awkward group that remained in the presbytery, but when the others turned around, Flambeau had vanished. Valentine exchanged a look with Sullivan and shrugged. Presumably, the thief had taken advantage of the distraction to make a getaway, rather than linger on with the police.

Father Brown yawned, murmuring about the seasonal toll of extra services and obligations, before disappearing up to his room in the attic. Feeling adrift in the now-quiet presbytery, the chief inspectors retired to the small spare bedroom and made themselves at home.

The bright sliver of a crescent moon hung high above the rooftops, and Valentine’s smoke-laden breath lingered in the frosty air outside the bedroom window. He leaned his elbows on the windowsill and gazed up at the night sky.

“You’re letting the cold air in”, Sullivan complained from the bed behind him, where he had settled with a thoroughly-unseasonal book on the latest forensic techniques.

“Yeah, well, it is December. Worth it, though, you should have a look at this view.”

“I’m quite enjoying the one from here.”

Valentine turned and shot him a grin. “You’ll change your tune when I get over there. My fingers are freezing.”

Sullivan raised an eyebrow in playful challenge. "I'll help you warm up if you close that window and come to bed."

Valentine laughed. “I appreciate it, believe me. Give me another minute though, I’ve missed the stars out here.”

“Fair enough. I’ll admit they aren’t something we see much of in London.”

“Mm.”

“Do you ever regret leaving Kembleford?”

Valentine turned his head sharply at the unexpected question. There was something unreadable in Sullivan’s eyes, but it didn’t take Father Brown to deduce what he was thinking. Besides, experience had made Valentine an expert on how his mind worked.

“Nah", he replied, "If I hadn't left, you wouldn't have come here. We'd never have met, and you're worth more to me than a few hills and stars."

“A few?” Sullivan raised an eyebrow, the darkness in his eyes replaced by a sparkle Valentine knew well.

“Fine, all of them.” Valentine grinned. Stubbing out his cigarette and closing the window, he abandoned the stars in favour of the view inside the room.

The bed was indeed warm and soft, and Sullivan was, if not soft, then warm and firm in the most agreeable ways. Valentine surrendered to the enveloping comfort of both, making sure to keep his cold hands on the outside of his bedmate’s pyjamas.

“So, have you enjoyed this Christmas?” he murmured against Sullivan’s neck, the feeling of warmth radiating through him making him drowsy.

“Well, it’s certainly been the best one I can remember”, Sullivan replied, breath ghosting against his skin. “I’ll have to let you organise all my Christmases from now on.”

Valentine smiled and pulled him close for a sleepy kiss. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Outside, the village slept under a blanket of snow, shining white beneath the silver moon. And in Kembleford presbytery, at least, there was peace on earth.


End file.
